


pseudosocial_media's Check, Please! Tumblr Fics

by pseudosocial_media



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudosocial_media/pseuds/pseudosocial_media
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, etc., each originally posted on Tumblr. I've seen a couple of other people do this kind of thing. It's pretty neat.</p><p>I'll update this as I write more. Ratings/triggers/warnings are in the notes for the individual entries (and aren't tagged, so be sure to read them before reading each ficlet). </p><p>The chapter summary will be the prompt I was given. The beginning notes will be what you would get on the work from the tagging/rating system if it was standalone (rating, pairings, content warnings, etc.), as well as any commentary I gave on the original tumblr post. I'll also include a link to each original Tumblr post in the ending notes so you can like/reblog it if you choose.</p><p>If you like these, feel free to send me a prompt on Tumblr!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Wow, I guess you really are that ticklish." (Nurseydex)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Prompt: for the 300 words or less thing, 'Wow I guess you really are that ticklish' for nurseydex" –Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen and Up Audiences  
> Category: M/M  
> Pairings: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter (Nurseydex)  
> Content Warnings: some language, roughhousing (tickling)
> 
> Ok so I wrote this in literally like 15 minutes and it’s exactly 300 words. I hope you enjoy it! <3

“Are you ticklish?” Nursey asked Dex one Spring morning as they laid together in his bed. They’d been up for a while, but neither had a class for another few hours so they’d opted to stay in and cuddle.

“No,” Dex answered, just a little too quickly.

Nursey rose up on his elbow. “You are so ticklish,” he said, allowing a devilish grin to spread on his face.

“I’m not that ticklish.” Dex sat up, his back against the headboard. He’d already crossed his arms protectively over his stomach. He was such a bad liar.

“Are too that ticklish,”

“Nursey, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Nursey’s hand had already snaked under Dex’s arm. He jabbed at Dex’s waist, and was rewarded with a shriek at least an octave higher than any sound he’d ever herd Dex make before.

Dex recoiled, inadvertently allowing access to his stomach. Nursey took full advantage, and for several minutes the room was full of Dex’s laughter and half-formed pleas for mercy, until he laughed so hard he fell off the bed.

Nursey stared down at his boyfriend, curled into the fetal position and still emitting little wheezing half-giggles.

“Wow,” he finally said. “I guess you really are that ticklish.”

“You’re the worst,” Dex managed, still curled protectively in on himself.

“You love me,” Nursey said, clambering down to lie next to him.

“Fuck you, Nurse.” Dex lifted his head to glower.

“Whatever you say,” Nursey gave him a peck on the lips and stood, grinning. “You hungry? Let’s go get some food.”

“Are you going to tickle me again?”

“Nah. Promise.”

Dex lifted his arm and allowed Nursey to help him up.

As soon as his back was turned, Nursey jabbed at his sides again and was rewarded with a squawk and a swat on the arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post is [here](http://revisionarian.tumblr.com/post/144414892741/for-the-300-words-or-less-thing-wow-i-guess-you).


	2. The Attic (Holsom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A T T I C" –Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen and Up Audiences  
> Category: M/M  
> Pairing: Justin "Ransom" Oluransi/Adam "Holster" Birkholtz  
> Content Warnings: some language, dubious consent (for a kiss — no sexual contact), one-sided crushes, aaangst
> 
> I wrote this in response to an anonymous prompt reading only “A T T I C”. 1.2k, Holsom (kind of). I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thank you to [perichareia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/perichareia) for beta reading this!

They got dibs on the attic at the end of their freshman year. They worked for them separately. Neither one realized that the boys who passed them down would have given dibs to them both if only one had earned them, anyway — it was clear, even then, that they were better together in pretty much every situation. But they didn't need to know that.

Truly, after only one year, they had become the closest friends on the team and one of the best defenseman pairs in the college league. Everyone could see it, though the team made its best effort not to tell them outright. At least they didn’t want to let them know immediately — their egos were enormous enough already, after only one good — well, great — season.

Their dibs came as a package deal anyway — the attic was the only room in the Haus with the space for or the presence of two beds. No one ever lived there alone, but the two people who would get to do so had to be carefully chosen. Every time dibs had to be chosen the Defenestration Disaster of '02 weighed heavily on everyone's minds. Dave Cohen and Alex Berger figured that probably wouldn't be a risk with Ransom and Holster.

They were right; it wasn't really a risk at all. They moved in at the beginning of their sophomore year and were pretty ideal roommates. They shouted sometimes, but that was just Holster. They argued, but it was never really any threat to their ecosystem. They had their freak-outs, but almost never at the same time. The attic became their home base, where they slept and studied and kept to themselves when they managed to keep to themselves. It was a shared space, though, which they easily co-inhabited. If one couldn’t find a nice shirt, the other would lend him that plaid one he seemed to like. If one heard frightening noises and giggling in the middle of the night, the other would be willing to share a bed — they were bros; it was a friend thing. If one brought a hook-up or one night stand back while the other was trying to sleep, the other would do his best not to interrupt or be intrusive and give the one a fist-bump after the hook-up left.

So they developed a comfortable symbiosis. Their performance on the ice spoke for itself, but it appeared in their day-to-day lives, as well. They came as a set — never seen apart at kegsters or around campus. They protected and defended each other, with words and with mini-pies. If they weren’t constantly flirting with pretty much every woman in sight, the general assumption would likely have been that they were dating. They were Ransom-and-Holster, the phrase essentially a single word in the collective Samwell mind.

They were the life of every party they went to, which was many. They were always the ones who were left going hard into the early morning, always the last ones to collapse, always the last ones to leave the next day. They both had relatively average alcohol tolerances, but they drank so, _so_ much that you’d never know. Sometimes they said things while drinking, to each other or to people they happened to run into, but mostly people disregarded anything they said at any party after a certain time. They were Ransom-and-Holster. They knew what they were doing. There was no reason to worry.

They never told anyone about the time they kissed, sitting on Holster’s bed in the attic after a kegster. Neither ever told anyone about how aware each was of how the other’s mouth tasted, or the feel of the other’s lips, or the way the other smelled. Ransom never told anyone how it left him with unease in the base of his gut for a week. Holster never told anyone that he wasn’t quite as drunk as he said he was before they kissed, or how guilty he felt about it, or how it left him in a darker place than he had been in before.

As time went on, they only got better on the ice. They were so in sync, everyone swore every time they played that they could read each other's’ minds. Every pass connected. Their performance was off the charts. They were unstoppable. They were closer than they’d ever been before.

The jockstrap on the door handle was a clear message. Holster felt his stomach drop. He had fucked up. He had fucked up. A wave of emotions accosted him from behind and he went downstairs to do his laundry so he wouldn’t burst in on Ransom and that girl. That girl who looked just like Holster. He needed to occupy his hands and his mind because he clearly wasn’t wanted in the attic that Ransom-and-Holster made a home and a fortress. Ransom knew what he was doing. There was no reason to explode.

As he directed his aggression at his laundry Bitty approached him and he knew. Of course he knew. Jack tried to help, too. He really tried. But Holster knew about him, too, through nothing but intuition and knowledge of what to look for, and knew he couldn’t help — he couldn’t even figure his own problems out. So he shook Jack off and he clung to Bitty and he cried.

Ransom never mentioned it, so neither did Holster. Neither had to. The message was sent and received. They went back to the way things were, and really, that was fine. Holster knew how to keep his emotions in check — he’d had practice. Anyway, they were good at being bros. If Ransom didn’t want to change anything, Holster wasn’t going to try to force him. If he got sad once in a while, he could find a different girl or guy to comfort him and get a fist bump when they left.

They were still the best defense pair on any college hockey team. That wasn’t about to change over anything. Their passes still connected. Their moves were still in sync. Any residual tension between them — if there was any residual tension at all — stayed off the ice entirely.

When it came time to choose which pair would get dibs on the attic the next school year, Holster knew the obvious pair to select was Dex and Nursey. Ransom brought up their conflict on and off the ice and pointed out their potential to repeat the Defenestration Disaster of ’02, but Holster saw himself in both of them and knew there was truly no other choice.

When they graduated, they promised to stay in touch. They kept the promise, and texted almost daily. Holster joined the AHL and Ransom went on to med school and eventually became a doctor. Even though they lived across state lines, they still joked and argued and supported each other their entire lives. Even though they couldn’t be together, they were still Ransom-and-Holster. Even when they didn’t know what they were doing, there was no reason to worry. They had each other’s backs, as bros and as best friends.

Neither of them ever returned to that attic. Neither of them felt the need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post is [here](http://revisionarian.tumblr.com/post/144672828498/the-attic).


	3. "You need to go." (Lardoshitty)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “'You need to go' + Shitty/Lardo <3" — chowder-official

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Category: M/F  
> Pairings: Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight  
> Content Warnings: sexual situations, language

The painting was only half-finished when they got distracted. It was the middle of the day (they could hear people walking on the sidewalk outside) and Lardo didn’t usually leave a piece unfinished unless she was too exhausted to continue or had class — and she definitely never left one still sitting in the middle of her room, where it could get knocked over or messed up somehow — but hey, she and Shitty hadn’t seen each other in literal months. So the distraction was inevitable, really, despite its timing.

Shitty had already been half naked, with cargo shorts, sandals, and a snapback but no shirt on both for the purpose of the art and of his own volition. Lardo made the snap decision to see if she could get him all the way nude with an intention, rather than just as a state of being. She’d decided not to think about what she was going to do, but instead just set down her paintbrush and approached him. Expecting criticism of his form when she left the easel and strode towards him, he had said something along the lines of “look, brah, I’m sorry for moving, but my arm’s fucking—”. He’d only gotten that far when she swung him around and pushed him backwards onto her bed.

“Do you want to fuck?” she’d asked him, maintaining a casual tone as if she was just making small talk, asking the question even though she was already unbuttoning her shirt. She knew well and knew that _he_ knew very well how important checking for consent _every_ time was.

Judging from his vigorous nodding, he was giving it.

Lardo’s room was a mess — clothes and books and papers and paint strewn everywhere —but her bed was relatively clean and debris-free, meaning they didn’t have to waste any time cleaning up, or even shoving anything off it before giving their full attention to each other. Shitty was entirely naked and Lardo was down to her bra and underwear, sitting straddling Shitty’s hips as he lay prone on the bed, when they heard the front door slam.

“Hey, whoever’s here!” called Holster’s voice from downstairs in general greeting. “Class ended early!” Fuck.

Lardo looked down at Shitty. “You need to go,” she said decisively, swinging her leg over to get off from on top of him. Holster was unlikely to barge into her room unannounced any time soon, but it was better not to risk it.

“Oh,” he said. “What?”

“You need to go,” Lardo repeated, pulling on her pants and beginning to button her shirt. “Now.”

Shitty sat up on the bed. “Okay, so I’m not trying to, like, pressure you or anything, but I’m confused. People have— _we’ve_ fucked in this Haus, like, while other people were here.”

“Dude, it’s not that I don’t want to,” Lardo said, gingerly picking up her half-finished painting and carrying it across the room towards her closet. “But the boys can’t know you’re here.”

“Wait, what? Why not?”

“Trust me, dude.” Lardo carefully leaned the canvas against the back wall of her closet in a way that none of her clothes would touch it and shut the door. She turned and leaned against it, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Um, how the fuck did you get in again?”

“I climbed the gutter, but—“

“Nice. That’s how you’re leaving.” She took his arm and began to drag him toward the window.

“Wait. I’m still, like, really fucking confused.”

Lardo considered fixing him with one of her Stares. He knew if she did, he would leave without any more questions. Then, it occurred to her that maybe her plan would be easier to pull off if he knew what was up. So, she sighed and relented. “Look, did you even wonder why I asked you to sneak in today, and not to just go through the front door?”

“Not really,” Shitty admitted. “Well, a little, I guess, but I was gonna climb the gutter anyway.”

“The painting I’m doing is a secret,” Lardo explained. “From the boys and from my professors. It’s going in my senior showcase: _A Shitty Discus Thrower_ , ‘shitty’ with an asterisk for the ‘i’ — I checked and showcasing a painting with the name censored like that is ‘frowned upon,’ but there’s, like, precedent — someone did it in 1998. Bro, just imagine their faces when they see _you,_ in that pose, with, like, that ridiculous pained look on your face—“

“Brah. My face was not ridiculous.”

“Eh, kinda. A little.” Lardo grinned. “And most people will think it’s funny or, it’s like, some kind of societal critique, but, dude, the boys’ll totally fucking _die._ And they’ll have no idea it’s coming because like, _they’ll have no idea you’ve been back._ It’s gonna be ‘swawesome. I have the best fucking spot picked out in the gallery. There’s this hallway that has, like, a turn and then it just ends. I’m gonna hang it there, with, like, signs pointing down the hallway with something like “’Discus Thrower,’ by Larissa Duan” on them, and then right below the painting I’m gonna put a motion activated camera to catch their faces. And that camera creates, like, a whole separate piece: the photos will be sent to a screen father in the gallery to create a collage. I’m gonna call it _Hypercatharsis_ — an intense display of emotion stemming from, like, the release of pent-up energy.”

“Wow. Fuck, brah.” Shitty leaned against the wall to the right of the window frame. His face was a mixture of awe and glee — he was totally caught up in imagining the two pieces.

“You get it now?”

“Chyeah. Yeah, dude, I’m out of here.”

Shitty turned and opened the window.

“Dude, wait,” Lardo made him pause. “When’s the next time you can come back? The painting’s not even _close_ to done.”

“I’ll text you,” Shitty called over his shoulder.

“Oh, wait, shit,” Lardo turned back around, searching on the floor. “Shitty!” she called after him a moment later, holding up his shorts. 

When she turned back to the window, he had already disappeared from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post is [here](http://revisionarian.tumblr.com/post/144776316091/you-need-to-go-shittylardo-3).


	4. i've got the right to give (Nurseydex)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "dex/nursey and lingerie for the writing challenge?" —Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Category: M/M  
> Pairings: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter (Nurseydex)  
> Content Warnings: sexual situations, lingerie (obvi), some language
> 
> Ok so this hasn’t been beta’d or looked at by anyone else and this isn’t exactly subject material I have huge amounts of experience with, so yeah. 1.4k. This is about as sexual as my writing will ever get, and it’s not really super duper NSFW. I hope you like it.

They woke up next to each other early on a Tuesday morning in November to yellow-orange sunlight streaming through the circular North window. They woke up next to each other every day now, whether they'd had sex the previous night or not. There were advantages to rooming together.

On this morning, they woke up pressed closer together than they had been when they fell asleep. Dex's back was pressed flush against Nursey's front, Nursey's arm reaching over his torso to tangle their fingers together. Nursey's upper leg was slotted between Dex's. Dex had underwear on; Nursey didn't — he preferred to sleep in the nude. Dex had not complained once.

Nursey woke up first. His entire field of vision was taken up by his boyfriend's hair, which looked strikingly like actual fire with the way the light from the window was hitting it. Not wanting to wake him, Nursey lay still and used the time while he was waiting to compose a poem in his head about his boyfriend and his boyfriend's hair. He'd need to write it down to edit it, but he had a pretty good start to a first draft by the time Dex began to stir.

As soon as Dex woke up he flipped around to face his boyfriend, to find him awake and smiling sleepily at him.

“Hi,” Dex said, smiling back.

“Hi,” Nursey replied. He leaned forward and Dex met him halfway with a good morning kiss. “Good morning, babe.”

“Good morning. You have class at eight.”

“Oh, we can stay here a little longer.”

Dex rolled over halfway and turned the screen of his phone on. “I don’t think we can,” he contradicted.

“What time is it now?”

“Seven-twelve.”

“I can be late,” Nursey said, pulling Dex back against him.

“Derek, I would be a bad boyfriend if I let you be late because of me.”

“I like bad boys.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Ugh, fine,” Nursey groaned, clambering over Dex to stand on the floor. He was still in the buff, and Dex admired his ass as he walked to the dresser — since they’d become official, he’d begun to allow himself to think of it as _gorgeous._ He knew it truly was and always had been, even when they’d honestly hated each other.

Nursey turned to face him, and Dex was treated to an even better view. “I’m out of underwear,” Nursey said, putting his hands on his hips.

Dex didn’t realize he’d spoken for a moment. “Huh?” he said lamely, after just slightly too long.

“Eyes are up here, babe,” Nursey said, grinning. “But anyway, I’m gonna borrow some of yours.”

“Uh, sure.” Dex said, rubbing his left eye and still admiring the view with his right. “They’re in the top drawer.”

“I know where they are,” Nursey turned and strutted over to the dresser, swinging his hips more than was strictly necessary. Dex knew he knew what he was doing — it was working.

“Your underwear is so boring,” Nursey commented, snapping Dex’s focus back to the conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“ _Look_ at this,” Nursey said, holding up a pair of gray boxer briefs. “Every pair you own looks exactly like this.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know. They’re boring. Like why not have some color? Get some blues, greens. Get some stretchy stuff that shows off your ass. Ooh! Get some with _no_ ass!”

“I’m not wearing my jockstrap under my normal clothes.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause no one sees my underwear. What’s the point?”

“Okay, A: _I_ see your underwear.”

“You don’t pay attention to it.”

“You don’t know that. And B: it’s for _you._ So _you_ feel sexy. It’s a really good feeling. I promise.”

“You’re telling me you go around wearing jockstraps and assless blue stretchy underwear every day?”

“Hmm. You clearly don’t pay attention to it.”

“Whatever,” Dex turned over to face the wall. He heard his boyfriend sigh and then move around the room, getting ready to go. They could have argued longer, but more recently when their arguments got more serious early in the morning they found it set them both up for a bad day, so one or both of them would end the interaction before it got that far.

“I love you,” Nursey said over his shoulder as he left.

“I love you, too,” Dex called after him. He lay there for another hour, doing his absolute best to go back to sleep.

* * *

Nursey didn’t have the best day. His professor had given his poem a 77/100, with a scribbled note saying something about cliché imagery — he couldn’t quite make it out. The line had been long at Annie’s and when he got to the front they’d been out of crepes. They were making new ones, but they wouldn’t be done for maybe another hour. On the way home he’d tripped and scraped up his elbows on the sidewalk. He wasn’t bleeding, but it stung a little. A lot of inconveniences had compounded to put him in a low mood. He wasn’t angry, he just was unhappy.

He was grateful to find the Haus empty when he returned. He loved his team, but he was just too exhausted to interact with them. He trudged up the two staircases to the attic and flopped on his bed, an arm over his eyes. He didn’t go to sleep immediately, but allowed himself to relax and his mind to wander.

He wondered where Dex was. He wanted to cuddle, to feel his boyfriend against him. Having Dex’s body pressed up against his always put him in a better mood. But he knew Dex had class — even when he couldn’t always remember his own schedule, he had Dex’s memorized. He had an afternoon class on Tuesday, and probably wouldn’t be back until 5 or 6.

He lay like that, thinking about holding his boyfriend and mentally writing line after line of poetry — with metaphors that absolutely _were not_ cliché, thank you very much — for a long while, and by the time Ransom and Holster burst into the Haus with loud conversation and hearty laughter, he had fallen asleep.

* * *

He woke up when Dex climbed into bed with him, fitting himself in as the little spoon even though he was fully clothed. Nursey sighed and slid his arm over Dex’s middle, nuzzling into the back of his neck.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” Dex responded. “How long have you been up here? You missed Bitty’s meringue cookies.”

“Since, like, four,” Nursey said. “I had a bad day. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I’m sorry your day was bad. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah,” Nursey said. “I just want to be here with you.”

“Okay,” Dex said, and they laid together in silence for a while.

Then, Dex turned to face Nursey, smiling almost shyly. “Do you want to… um.”

Nursey smiled back. “Yes, babe. Let’s ‘um.’”

Dex rolled his eyes. He rolled over and stood at the edge of the bed. “I have something.”

“Babe,” Nursey grinned. “I didn’t know you were into toys.”

“It’s not a toy. Well, not really.” Dex blushed. “Turn around.”

Nursey didn’t move immediately. After a moment of looking at each other, he slowly turned to face the wall. Immediately, he heard Dex move behind him. The rustling of cloth. A deep breath.

“Okay. You can look.”

Nursey turned back around. When he saw Dex, he froze, stunned. There his boyfriend was, nearly naked and with a blush creeping it’s way down his chest. It was an amazing sight, but it’s not what stopped him. That was the only thing Dex _was_ wearing: a pair of lacy, black, tiny translucent underwear. He looked amazing.

The silence stretched long. “Well?” Dex asked after a moment, nervous. “What do you think?”

“Babe, I… when did you get these?”

“This afternoon. You said I needed better underwear so I…”

“You got lingerie,” Nursey finished, standing and moving towards his boyfriend.

“If you don’t like them, I can take them ba—“ Nursey halted Dex with a kiss, pulling their bodies close. Dex pressed into him, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“I love you,” Nursey said when he broke away, as Dex went to work on his neck.

“I love you, too,” Dex breathed.

“Now let’s go,” Nursey said, swiveling and pushing Dex back onto the bed and getting himself undressed.

“Hey, be careful not to rip these. They were expensive.”

“ _Babe._ Chill. I would never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post is [here](http://revisionarian.tumblr.com/post/145030961786/dexnursey-and-lingerie-for-the-writing-challenge).


	5. Autistic!omgcp (Headcanons/AU/fun exercise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no prompt for this, so I'll use this space to explain what it is in my own words instead.
> 
> This one is slightly different than the previous entries — Tumblr user chowder-official has made some fantastic headcanons of characters being on the spectrum, and I drew up my own list and got to discuss and expand on it with them. This was actually posted before any of the fics in this compilation were written, but I didn't really think to add it until now.
> 
> I don't headcanon all of the characters as being on the spectrum (just one or two), but this was a lot of fun to make. Also, being on the spectrum myself, it was a pretty cool exercise and helped me fall even more in love with these characters than I already was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: General Audiences  
> Category: General  
> Pairings: None  
> Content Warnings: None
> 
> Ok so I LOVE [@chowder-official](https://tmblr.co/m_SJdVHrddEZbpJ4bFK5EvQ)‘s autistic!omgcp headcanons & I made some of my own and chowder-official themself discussed and gushed about and built upon them w me and so here’s the product of that, in no particular order:

  * Autistic Shitty, who Does Not Like clothes because he doesn’t like the feeling of the cloth on his skin and they make him feel trapped
    * BUT autistic Shitty who will wear Jacks flannel for comfort or encouragement cause they are Friends and he takes Jack not minding as permission to take the flannel whenever he needs to
  * Autistic Dex needing to micromanage everything to have it be Perfect (I’ve seen some OCD Dex headcanons so maybe he’s both???)
    * And he likes programming cause its so satisfying to see it line up just right and he can keep the code all neat and perfect and its awesome when things go right, but sometimes they don’t and he’ll get frustrated and he probably had a couple meltdowns bc of it
    * And he’s frustrated by Nursey’s constant “dude, chill” bc he?? literally can’t???
  * Autistic Nursey who’s hypersensitive to other people’s emotions?? Like, he sometimes has a problem interpreting facial expressions & body language & tone of voice so he tends to err on the side of caution and assume ppl are upset
    * AND!!! he’s bad at dealing w the negative emotions bc people dont react the way he expects them to?? so he just acts the way he wants other people to act cause ‘chill’ has been the safest thing?? but he doesn’t know why it wont work w Dex?
    * Also!!! Autistic Nursey who likes the pressure of his beanies and snapbacks on his scalp!! !!!
  * Autistic Chowder whose Special Interest is Sharks
  * Autistic Holster who has trouble controlling his volume
  * Autistic Lardo who has trouble with the gross motor skills required for skating (but no trouble with the gross and fine motor skills required for painting and who doesn’t get why people don’t understand this???)
  * Autistic Tango who Does Not Get figures of speech, passive aggression, or sarcasm (“oh so pretty nice then”)
    * and who asks so many questions bc he’s bad at picking up on subtext but also Wants To Know Everything
  * Autistic Bitty who Does Not Like To Be Touched and whose fear of checking grew out of that, and not bullying.
  * Bonus: Autistic Tater, who has trouble with the fine motor skills required to draw the Falconers logo with crayons!!!



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post is [here](http://revisionarian.tumblr.com/post/143862143236/ok-so-i-love-chowder-officials-autisticomgcp).


	6. Concept (Zimbits)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt. A short, fluffy, feel-good futurefic. 100% homegrown and beta-free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: General Audiences  
> Category: M/M  
> Pairings: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Guy/OMC  
> Content Warnings: None, I think. Let me know if you see any!

Concept: It is 2018. Bitty and Jack sit by the fireplace in their apartment in Providence, both fully content.

The Falconers won the Stanley Cup in 2017. A month later, Jack came out publicly via Instagram by posting a photo of him and Bitty kissing with the hashtag ‘#LoveIsLove’. He is now working closely with You Can Play and is regularly featured on Bitty’s vlog.

Because of this, Bitty’s vlog has gained a massive following — not that he wasn’t big before, but now all the hockey fans follow him along with the bakers and the LGBTQ+ base. He’s been on Ellen. He’s writing a book — two, actually: a cookbook and a memoir co-written with Jack about their time in the closet.

Jack and Parse have exchanged all the apologies they owe each other. They’re close to being good friends again. And while Bitty may not go out of his way to spend time with Parse, he doesn’t really mind his occasional presence knowing that he isn’t actively hurting Jack.

When Bitty came out to his parents, Alicia hugged him. She didn’t tell him she’d already suspected it, but instead that she loved him however he was. Coach shook his hand. He said later that he didn’t really understand the whole gay thing, but he loved his son and would make an effort to educate himself.

The day Jack came out to the team, Guy invited him and Bitty over for dinner. When they arrived, he introduced them to his husband, Marcus. They had met in high school and dated for nine years before the marriage equality ruling.

Jack receives letters daily from fans of all ages telling him that he is their idol, the one who gave them the courage to be honest with themselves or to come out. He keeps every one — they now have a room devoted to them — and replies to as many as he can.

So, in the middle of 2018, with all that behind them and only good things to look forward to in the future, Bitty and Jack sit together in their apartment in Providence. Bitty has his legs draped over Jack’s, and Jack’s hand rests on Bitty’s knee. The engagement ring on his finger glints in the firelight. They talk and smile and laugh, both of them fully content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post is [here](http://revisionarian.tumblr.com/post/145933014103/concept-it-is-2018-bitty-and-jack-sit-by-the).


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